Noamon
by Zuzubirds
Summary: Every hero has a story. Every villain had a life. LoK AU. Darkish.


_Here we go, ladies and gents. My first ever semi-darkfic. _

_Hope it goes over well. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Legend of Korra. The rights belong to Viacom and Bryke, et cetera. Anywho, no money for me. Excuse me while I grump. _

_...Enjoy the show!_

...

* * *

"Your parents are bound to be one of two things: your inspiration, or your downfall."

-_Anonymous_

…

* * *

…

…"_So, what do you think?"…_

As snow flurries down, during his thinking hour, it is these five words that make Noatak feel… uncomfortable. These five words that the Avatar said smugly, hands on hips, inches away from the twisting emotions under his carefully trained, indifferent mask. He responded that she wasn't good enough. That she needed more practice.

But he, of all people, should know that the Avatar is powerful.

(He and his father.)

And Tarrlok says he _shouldn't be ashamed of being her teacher, _since he is _a master waterbender after all and it's a worthy cause. No reason to be sick over it. _A large smile is all it takes from his brother before he sighs and agrees.

… "_Am I good enough for your highness?"…_

So when Korra asked this, he was sorely tempted to say no.

"_No. I will __**not **__teach her_," he had said of the Avatar that night in late autumn, teeth gritting where nobody could see them, fisting his gloved hands at his sides. But although the council of the Northern Water Tribe smiled down at him sympathetically, the Chief **insisted**. Lessons were to start the next morning, early. No one questions the Chief (and this is why he complied). Specifically when the Chief **insists. **

The day following, out in the training courtyard, the Avatar arrived late, dragging behind her a polar bear dog and two friends she had met while touring Republic City. Both benders.

He hated (still hates) each of them.

And so he taught Korra the _hard _way; when she stuck a hand in his space for him to shake, he melted the ice surrounding him and pushed it all in a wave to her. She retaliated with a concentrated face and poorly formed ice shards aiming at his throat. They continued until she was bleeding and he was breathing less than evenly, but still she fought with an energy she obviously did not have. He assumes this was the helpful strength of her hundreds of past lives—she is one spirit with different forms and thoughts, but ultimately reaching for the same goal. With a _much _stronger survival instinct than anybody else truly mortal. How ironic.

He wonders if the Avatar will ever find what it is looking for; peace is something impossible to attain even if there could simply be two people left on the earth. And since bending is responsible for all violence, a bender of all four elements would never be able to help.

Let alone _control that power. _

_._

Noatak was twenty-four when he realized for the first time that he could permanently take a person's bending.

He had studied chi points and the chakras; the librarian was wary but patient with him, though he must have misplaced seven scrolls in the course of a month. After a while he didn't regret taking someone's bending, only the part where he had to silence the bender themself.

Months' worth of hours and hours memorizing paid off. He learned the chi points, the pressure points to trigger unconsciousness or panic, but some of them were _too deep _to reach with a jab. One, only benders had (he learned a way to stun the point at first, but only for a matter of minutes). And then he knew he could cure the world of this disease. He knew as well that if he told anyone _here_, they would think he was crazy.

But in reality, he is the only one that makes sense.

So he uses bloodbending.

Bloodbending is evil. Noatak knows this and yet some part of him resolved itself that since he is using it for good, no one can judge him for it. If they saw, and understood, he wouldn't have to explain that he is _not something malicious _like his great-grandmother Hama, the very first bloodbender. Though some still call him such.

"_You're a monster," _the benders say. "_You're a monster and you'll get what's coming to you."_

It hurts Noatak less to quiet them after that, when pleading turns to rage and they spit insults at him as if that alone will drive him away. He agrees that it is a human's last resort, and it isn't necessarily their fault that the best they can do chained to a wall is scream angrily—but the word still haunts him.

He falls asleep, and his mother's voice whispers it again and again. His brother's. His father's. His father always sounds proud. Proud of the phenomenal son he raised, the perfect little tool of revenge, while Tarrlok was cursed with a kind heart and no stomach for violence. His voice is always the wretched one.

"_You're a monster." _

But the phrase has a nice ring, doesn't it?

It does.

When he wakes the words are still there, but one morning they were only choppy.

_A monster._

_A monst-er. _

_A-mon—_

…

* * *

…

After Noatak's thinking hour is dinner. On weekdays the Avatar retrieves him; she is usually still giggling about some childish joke she and her friends share, and when she is in a pleasant mood, she offers to tell it to him.

… "_Hey Noatak, wanna hear a joke?"_…

He forever replies with a sour answer in the negative, and she should know by now that he will _never_ want to.

"You always go out of your way to irritate me, Avatar," he says slowly, around his pipe. "If only you would put this much thought into your waterbending practice."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her thin (muscular) arms. "Whatever," she says, "you killjoy. Now hurry. They're making tiger seal tonight!"

Then she does her happy dance and exits the room. Noatak assumes this happy dance came from Republic City, and if the only things that emanate from there are benders and ridiculous hip movements, he decides he is never visiting.

And as he is thinking on this, he walks to the brightly lit dining room in a heavy, dark blue parka that makes him sweat—although everything around him is sculpted from ice. Worried looks between the elders walking past and ahead of him remind Noatak that he took a risk today, curing and silencing someone of actual importance to the Tribe. Not that she would have said anything, but the Chief's daughter still would have been without her bending, and her lifelong brain-fever could only have made the conspicuousness of it worse.

The Chief is tense at the head of the table when he reaches it, and stands as the Chief always does when she is about to speak.

"Noatak," she says, and makes a motion with her hand. Noatak looks about himself with eyes that do not mirror the spark of anxiety he feels. He sees the newly distressed Avatar—so she's finally heard—sitting across from him before responding.

"Yes?"

The Chief beckons him over, and once he is close, whispers, "My daughter is missing." There is an undeniable strain in her powerful voice and Noatak can tell she does not know. Though he is relieved, he forces worry into his voice when he repeats,

"Missing?" and pulls away in shock. The Chief looks away as she always does when faced with unfavorable prospects.

She hisses, "Keep your voice down," and locks eyes with him. Then her speech is quiet again when she informs him that this has happened before (but not for so long), since her daughter gets lost easily, and that no one should panic, but he _needs _to find her, because he is one of the best trackers she knows beside Akaluk but Akaluk is gone, and there is no time for dinner; her daughter has been gone since this morning. (It is a lot to say in one breath. But the Chief _is _the Chief, isn't she?)

Noatak knows. But he won't say so, since that will almost give him away. His expression is serious and his eyes are murky.

"What do you want me to do?"

The Chief makes to sit, and plasters on a smile that, even against the backdrop of towering icy walls and indoor waterfall around them, looks _cold_. "Look everywhere," she says. She pulls her long, dark braid over her shoulder. "And don't come back unless you find her."

…

* * *

…

… "_Wait!" _…

This is not particularly Noatak's favorite word. But it may be the Avatar's. For she says it over and over, constantly, when she wants him to stop and talk, but Noatak is not fond of talking and so he keeps walking as though she hasn't spoken.

"Noatak, wait!"

For her sake, he falters in his steps and lets Korra catch up. She is panting but catches her breath quickly enough, and says, "I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Oh, yes, I am! Did you see anyof that, in there? You _need_ me."

"If you're going to degrade my skills in tracking then you might as well leave." He returns to his fast pace toward the docks once more, and the Avatar pauses before following closely.

"…I didn't mean it like that. It's just, I've never tracked before, but I'm _still _as good of a waterbender as you. So maybe I can help."

Noatak snorts. "I doubt that." If he hadn't known where the Chief's daughter was in the first place, not even Akaluk would find her. "Who said anything about bending?"

Korra shrugs, and says softly, "You never know. She might have drowned."

"It is possible."

"And then I could use my waterbending to find her under the water, you know?"

"I do not think it will be necessary."

"Really? Why?" she stops and stares at him, but he only spares her a glance before beginning down the set of steps that lead to the docks. "Noatak. Why?"

_Why indeed. _

He only shrugs. She falls into step with him, and now that she is quiet he is able to relax. Relax and think of how to secret into the place with the silenced benders, slowly and indifferently, as if he hadn't known it was there. Visiting benders and Tribe-going benders have been steadily disappearing for nearly twenty years here, so the amount of them is almost enormous, and after _tonight_ he shall have to find another hiding place.

He grits his teeth.

Why must the Avatar ruin _everything? _

"…Where are we going?" Korra breaks out impatiently, and he realizes she has been fuming by his side for some time now. "It's not far, is it?"

Noatak dips his head. "It depends on your depth perception," he says. "Far and near could be the same, or entirely different."

"It's different," she says. "Where are we going?"

"Near the water." He sighs. "Are you going to be asking questions the entire time?"

She looks offended, but doesn't speak on it.

"No." She furrows her eyebrows. "No. You just… seem lonely to me."

"Do I?"

"Yeah." She bumps elbows with him as they take the last stair, and after that she shies away. "That's why I try to talk to you all the time. Don't you have a girlfriend, or something?"

Noatak is surprised that she would bring this up, but Korra is always very blunt and he's learning to expect everything possible from her.

"I do not," he begins, "as you put it, 'have a girlfriend.' I find the idea frivolous and I have no time for it."

"But you're _forty!_" she exclaims. "You should be _married_ by now."

"You're seventeen," he counters, "and you have two teenaged boys living with you."

She is speechless after that, and it takes all Noatak has in him not to smile.

…

* * *

…

"Ohh, I'm not doing that."

Korra holds the rungs of the ladder that leads down, down somewhere dark and cold and alien. Noatak is familiar with this place, so when the ladder drops out, he knows just where to jump; Korra does not and he thinks it's the best way to make her go back.

"You are the one who…asked… to come, Avatar. If you can't keep up then _perhaps you_ _should leave_."

She glares in his direction; Noatak can feel and see her anger at him, but simply raises an eyebrow. His companion was reluctant to come down in the first place. And now that the moonlight is gone and she has just seen him take a leap into the abyss, she is slightly more cynical.

"I am _not _going back," Korra says pointedly. "This ladder is just creepy, is all. Is this the sewer?"

"You would have to jump." Noatak forces himself to sound bored as he moves from one foot to the other. "Would you like to stay here while I search?"

"No!" The Avatar yells after him, once he has waited a bit too long and begun to walk off. Noatak learned that inactivity in these tunnels leads to muscle cramps from the chill, headaches, as well as temporary sickness of the lung. They're not at all enjoyable.

So if she is not going to follow, he thinks, then he might as well move.

"Noatak, wait! Don't just leave me here, you jerk!"

And he senses with bloodbending that Korra has jumped, but miscalculated, and with a shocked grunt he twitches (_bends_) to pull her along in the fall. He turns and strains to see her in the black. But she's there. And she is very much alive.

"…Okay… I am awesome," he hears her mutter to herself, and grits his teeth. The Avatar does not see Noatak directly in front of her—so when she bumps into him smiling, she probably doesn't know why he locks his hands around her wrists and grips _tight. _

"_Never,_" he says quietly, harshly, "_never _do that again. Do you realize the distance you could have fallen?"

Korra squints skeptically between her hands and his face. His face, which is still perfectly still and cold but hides a storm. She yanks her wrists free and says, "Gee, Noa, didn't realize you cared."

Noatak stiffens. Then he rips away from her gaze and the only thing he allows himself to hear is the sound of his boots hitting old stone, the drips of water from the ceiling, the Avatar following him closely.

Repressed, his voices are loud and clamoring…

…_Noa, didn't realize you cared. _

…_a monster! _

…_get what's coming to you, _

…_my son,_

…_it won't stop, they're always there, why won't they go away, Tarrlok? _

…_cleansed of your impurities. _

…_A-mon-ster. _

Care about a bender?

No.

He does not.

He is a monster, after all.

…

* * *

…

It takes less than five minutes to reach the door, and when Korra knocks into it, she holds up her flame closer to see what it is. She has presently used her firebending for a torch, and all the while Noatak watched it warily, lest it jump from her hand to ignite his clothing. He does not trust fire. He knows how many people have felt its bite.

"I see something!" she says louder than necessary. "Looks like you might have picked the right tunnel."

"Perhaps."

Korra searches for a door-handle, turns it halfway when she finds one and draws away with a sigh.

"Okay, step back." She kicks her right leg out just after he's moved to the left, and with a sound of effort, forces a ball of fire against the door. It, in return, shrieks and falls flat to the ground on the other side. Korra smiles proudly (he sighs) and straightens her parka, sparing Noatak a backward glance before marching straight through.

He is certain the first thing she notices is the smell of rot.

…Noatak's eyes have adjusted after many nights of making this same trip… but he cannot say the same for Korra's. When she lights her hand once more, he is confident of her fear and so steps aside to offer more of a view.

Five senses offer him something after Korra's shock has faded away. The small noise she makes when she sees shadowy pale faces, streaked red and contemplatively serious, facing one another where they hang from the ceiling.

The scent the fire creates when it burns off gases of decay.

The look of horror and disgust on her face, the shaking of her knees.

The taste of a glower when she does not immediately react as he thought she would.

And then, the feel of her cold hair and clothing when she faints and he must move forward to catch her.

"I told you, Korra," he says almost remorsefully. He sets her on the ground and walks away to find the Chief's daughter among the hanged. "I warned you to go back."

Why must the Avatar ruin _everything? _

…

* * *

…

It is warm inside the infirmary's waiting room. Noatak must take off his cloak and almost smiles, but he schools his face wisely, for the events of the night have been very disappointing so far.

_Devastating _for the Chief.

Observationally, Her daughter had been beaten (all self-inflicted wounds, but Noatak couldn't mention such a thing) and suspended by her neck with thick rope, her heavy jacket and gloves taken, so her lips and fingertips were as blue as her blankly gazing eyes.

Noatak once found the stare of the dead unnerving. But then, he realized, they couldn't help it. Even if their souls stared back at him through those eyes, from the spirit world, they could do nothing in a body with a broken neck. Noatak knew they could do even _less _in a body whose blood vessels were burst, but he hated killing with his bloodbending. Manipulating, fine. But never killing. He still thinks it inhumane.

"—Oh, _there_ you are. She's- Korra's fine, sir, just going through a bit of shock. We're trying to talk her through it, but she can see you for a couple of minutes."

Noatak stares evenly at the curly-haired nurse who has appeared across the hall. She holds open the papered door for him with one arm, and when he stands, smiles shortly before disappearing back into the room.

When he moves to the same door and slides it fully open, the only sound that greets him is the ring of one telephone in a far room. There are seven people in the infirmary: two doctors, three nurses, a janitor and… Korra. Noatak remembers then that he has not called Korra's friends yet. Or her parents. He figured it would only be a bother to phone them over such a trifle, and anyway _he_ can tell that Korra will be perfectly fine.

It's very late. Noatak sees this when he glances at a short stubby clock on a desk, stretched from the wall, as he strides past. The Northern Water Tribe is asleep (but true to his word, Noatak didn't come back without the Chief's daughter. Speaking of which, he cannot say he knows her name. Names don't come easy to him).

Bringing Korra and the Chief's daughter back was not as hard as one might think. But Noatak does not give away his secrets, for that is the sign of a charlatan. Perhaps he bloodbent, perhaps he didn't. Perhaps it was magic.

Hmm.

"…Noatak?"

The Avatar breaks him out of his thoughts, for he has been walking this entire time, and he sees that she is tiny as he faces her, tiny among her large pillows and fur blankets on the (semi-comfortable) infirmary bed; only her face and hands show through the crisp white fabric. Her voice is tired and muffled. The room around her seems too big and sparse, clear of all the things one should have in their room. Nothing decorates the walls. Nothing. Noatak dislikes hospitals.

"What happened?"

Noatak takes another look at her and cannot resist. "You fainted," he says. "Like an old woman."

He soon realizes that he stands in her doorway, the light overhead yellowish like the one he kept in the Hole by the sewer, illuminating the shadow in front of him as if it were about to jump out. He steps inside and closes the door behind himself. Then he pulls a mat out from against the wall and sits next to Korra's mattress. She watches him intently, seeming to try and respond.

"That's what they told me," Korra finally says. "That you told them." She groans and rubs her eyes. "You know what? Just… forget I asked."

Noatak nods, as if to do just that, but as he shifts his legs, he asks, "How do you feel?"

"I don't know." She punches the pillow underneath her arm. It crumples in and reluctantly draws back, fearing another attack. "Tired. Sick. Kind of…"

"Weak?"

"Yeah. …What?"

"Nothing. Do you remember at all?"

Korra hesitates before sitting upright. Her hair, as mussed and tangled as it is sometimes during bending practice, falls in front of her eyes. She blows it away irritably.

"Nothing really," she mutters. Noatak reads pain on her face. "Just snippets. Like jumping, and then this…" she blinks rapidly for a moment, and then looks as if she's laughing at herself. "…this weird feeling all over my muscles. I couldn't move them. It might have been mixed up with my dream. Anyway… That's pretty much it." And then Korra seems to steer herself away from that subject. She probably feels as if she's talked about it too much.

"This is a creepy hospital," she informs him. She eyes him warily when he smirks. "What's the use of having one like this? There's nothing else modern in the entire Tribe."

"Precisely," says Noatak. He can't say for sure if he is agreeing with—or contradicting—her. Ah, well. The Avatar rolls her wide blue eyes.

"Did you call my parents?"

"Of course."

"Mako and Bolin?"

"A mistake on my part."

"I'll bet they were freaking out."

"One could call it that, yes." They are both smiling, amused at the _verbal _sparring they enact every day, and Korra looks like she's finally woken up…

…But then Noatak decides he shall feel very tired, as well, short as this visit has been. Short as this entire _day_ has been. He has strategies to plan. Terror to imitate. Liabilities to form. Korra is smirking softly, but after he moves to stand, the expression drops and her face is layered in panic.

"Wait, where are you going?" she asks. He is just a step too far away to make a grab at his too-large sleeve, but she does reach the parka folded around his waist and tugs sharply. "I'm not through with you yet."

Noatak chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and pushes her hand away as gently as he can. "Miss me already, Avatar?"

Korra looks insulted for the second time that night. Maybe she is rightfully so; he can be trying sometimes. (His brother tells him this but not in so many words.)

"Yeah, right," she huffs. Then, "Just… just wait here until Mako and Bolin come, okay? I don't want to be alone in this place. The janitor smells like pickled eel or something."

From the look on her face, Noatak can tell what her opinion of pickled eel is.

"…And I _do _have a name."

But Noatak isn't all that good with names, really. Just titles.

_Brother. Father. Mother. __**Avatar. **_

…_A monster. _

_A-mon-ster. _

_A-mon? _

_And the Chief. The Chief's daughter. The Tracker that replaces me. __**Replaced**__. He was a bender, wasn't he? What a loss. _

"Go to sleep, Avatar. I will wake you when they come."

When Korra settles and closes her eyes, an extra drain of adrenaline pulls her where he wants her to be. A land with no ice and a cloudless sky. There are no benders, no wars.

Noatak turns out the light. He leaves. And he does not look back.

…

* * *

…

"You're going to have to tell them sooner or later."

Noatak watches his brother. Watches as he pours some tea that steams in the morning light, opens a book. Props his feet on the table. (Something he picked up from his father.)

"Tell them what?" he demands. Tarrloks lifts an eyebrow, which is what Tarrlok does when he is amused. He exhales heavily, like Tarrlok does when he is disappointed.

"That you're a bloodbender. What else?"

Noatak is disconcerted.

"Why would I do that?"

Tarrlok removes his feet from the table, then moves his body to put his elbows in their place. The book is laid pages-down against the mud colored wood. Next to the tea. Noatak observes that Tarrlok is nearly finished with it.

"It's _moral, _Noatak. I will if you will."

"Well, I won't."

Tarrlok frowns. But he stands anyway and clasps his arms behind his back, his long sealskin parka (identical to Noatak's) crunching in at the shoulders. Noatak wrinkles his nose as his brother walks slowly by, only catching the sight of Tarrlok's triple hair-ties and the scent of lavender.

"You smell like a woman."

Tarrlok, who is otherwise pacing near the enormous single paneled windows at the far wall, freezes facing him, colors in shock and scowls. And as if to add insult to injury, Noatak begins to stare at the plain, brown and blue and white furnishings about the large room. Better than the hospital's, but lack of feminine touches in his room should be enough to drive any lady away from Tarrlok.

"She's quite the lucky one," intones Noatak when his brother makes to interject, and gestures to a ragged beaver-bear pelt that hangs from the wall by the door. He cannot recall ever seeing it in Tarrlok's room before. But perhaps he isn't attentive enough.

Tarrlok's flush heightens and he restrains a snap. "You don't know her," he says assertively.

"Bika? _I_ _know _Bika."

"You…! …Don't change the subject, Noatak." Teasing was always too much for Tarrlok. Noatak waits. "They need to know eventually—after what you've done. The whole Tribe does." Tarrlok strides over until he's nearly face to face with his sibling, a good foot shorter, but with his father's eyes he always distracts from height.

If they _are _his father's eyes.

Plastic surgery does a body bad. (But, of course, Noatak fixed it up in the end.)

Noatak fixes everything.

"…if you won't tell them, then I will."

So Noatak must fix _this _as well, as he hears his brother speak in words he has been trying to block out. He nods, tries his best to look downcast. After all, he _did _plan the night before. Nighttime is not necessarily his primary thinking time, but he does good.

"I'm sorry, brother," he says. Tarrlok is taken aback, but returns his gaze. (If only he knew, if only he could keep a secret.)

Noatak could barely get him to stay quiet about the Hole. The place in the sewer. The cold, dark, alien place where all benders belong.

"I will fix this. Watch me, Tarrlok. Learn a few things."

…

* * *

…

The afterlife is cold. Noatak can tell (because the Chief sits on her knees close to the Chief's daughter, wrapped up in herself, pressing a pale dead hand to her lips. Trying to warm it.)

And even though some candles are lit, few stay that way when a breeze forces through an unlatched window. So the room is dark, and the afterlife must be very cold. It must depend on where you live. How you die.

Surprisingly, Noatak feels no remorse.

It is best that way.

"…I want them dead," murmurs the Chief. A white nightdress hangs loose around her shoulders, droops on one side. Her hair cascades down her back. When she turns to face him, the light of the sky does nothing to brighten her eyes.

He wonders how long she has been here, grieving. But he does not understand.

…Why mourn for a hopeless cause? Why try to resurrect the dead, when they are perfectly happy where they are?

-His mother's lips press to his forehead and curve into a smile. (_My beautiful son_)

_**Why**__? _

"He told me to keep her safe," the Chief says next. "When I fell, he knew I couldn't have any more children. Kannok loved her. In his own way." she squeezes her daughter's hand, a gesture of possession that Noatak can finally comprehend, and gives a watery smile. "At least, now, they'll finally meet."

And then she stands. She uses the mat where her daughter lies to help herself up; on second thought, she pauses kneeling and pulls a silk sheet over her daughter's head, a silver one that had been folded over the corpse's waist. She pulls it slowly up, up, over painted ruby lips and fragile cheekbones.

Noatak thinks, if she were not a bender and not so very dead, he would even call her beautiful.

"You have to find them, Noatak," says the Chief. She crosses her arms and stands and glares at him in a trusting, weary way. Something only the Chief can do. "You find out who they are. What they want. Why they have been doing this. And then they answer to _me._"

Noatak feels the daggers in her voice. He hopes the worst they will do to his brother is imprison him, but it is unlikely. Ah, well. Sacrifices must be made time after time. Noatak knows this.

"There is no need," he says. "I have reason to believe it is someone… close to me."

…

* * *

…

… "_It was you all along, wasn't it?" _…

Yes. _Yes. _

Yes, Noatak thinks.

Yes, Noatak tries to say. But the truth no longer forms in Noatak's mouth. A curse? Perhaps. But it is his curse. He will cherish it.

… "_How could you?" _…

How, indeed.

…For the time allotted between shock and fury on his brother's face was shorter than most of his victims'. It takes only a convincing story after that in a chilled courtroom, a backup of his mother's morals and protection, a few choked words, hands raking through long, dry hair. A moment requested to compose himself, to stare questioningly at his brother. The Chief is the judge, for now and forever. And the Chief has always liked him.

Tarrlok hadn't really stood much of a chance.

He was the younger brother. Always pining for the parents' approval. Following in big brother's footsteps, sometimes straying (and the day his father taught him to bloodbend seemed to be the breaking point).

Though Tarrlok made vehement denials, they served to be his downfall. Nobody innocent would be so _adamant, _would they? They would know their validity, only be incredulous rather than outraged, break into silent tears and give up the fight.

This is the way the Chief thinks, and the way the Council thinks. The way the bystanders, and the people sitting around the quarrel on the rug-covered floor, think. So it is the idea that Noatak arrives with.

The Chief sentences Tarrlok. Though Noatak pays no attention to the words spoken, he doubts he will ever see his brother again.

But if he is to cleanse the world, first he must cleanse _himself. _

It is finished, then, before it began. Tarrlok does not break their gaze until he is dragged out of sight by the guards, and even then Noatak ignores the burn of a searching stare. Before he reaches the door to the outside Korra intercepts him, crushes him in the kind of embrace he has never felt, never really wished to feel.

"I'm so sorry," she says forcefully, through tears that Noatak caused. "I'm so sorry about your brother. I never knew—"

"Korra," he says. She brings her head away from his abdomen, looks up at him very curiously. Noatak smiles. "Do not cry. It's over. If Tarrlok truly deserved this, it is not for me to judge. A fabricated story simply helped it along." He removes her now-limp hands from his person, stares at her stunned, narrowed eyes. He leads them into a dark back hallway to the eastern wing, and bends to kiss the top of her head. "Goodbye, Korra. I wish I could say I am sorry."

He strikes a pressure point on her neck when she begins to wrench away, lips forming a shout. She slumps to her knees. Her eyes droop.

"It was _you?_" she asks softly. He sees his brother asking the same question. But all he can do is smirk. "You… you _said my name._" Korra begins to sway, her body pitching forward, only her reflexes keeping her from falling onto her face. He strikes another pressure point. "You're a—a mon—"

The consciousness fades from her body, then she falls. And after this, Noatak walks calmly past, by her body, down the icy steps from the courtyard, to the docks, and stows away onto the next foreign ship. He almost does not notice that it is headed for Republic City.

But he does not care any longer, and, stumbling across a box of festival masks when the ship pulls away, finds one that suits him perfectly. A permanent smirk. A cold stare. A defined aura. And he puts it on.

The mask creeps into his mind, past the barriers of his thoughts. He is not Noatak anymore. He is a non-bender from the Fire Nation. A firebender took his parents. Took his face. He wonders if the story is right for Republic City—but now, he _feels. _He can be anything.

He is a monster, after all.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps not.

Maybe he is just… Amon.

...

...

* * *

_Fin. _

* * *

_A/N: A'ight. So. Pardon the English, but, this story was a nasty little bugger. Kicked and screamed all the way. Not saying I'm not proud of it, although... ahhemm. _

_"But I don't **want **to flow!" it said. "I wanna be choppy! Why can't I just be choppy? You **never listen to me**!" _

_And this is the reason I had to work on it since the beginning of last month. Sigh. (Hey guys? Suggestions for a beta, by the way? That would be really great!)_

_Anyway... what did you think? Lemme know! Your reviews are worth more than you give them credit for, poor things. :D_

_~Z_


End file.
